The Other Elizabeth

Chapter XX: Lady Day 1458

Chapter XX: Lady Day 1458

St Paul's Cathedral and Baynard's Castle, London, England 

Barely a week after I ceased bleeding from my miscarriage we are summoned to London. Our uncle, Archbishop Bourchier, has negotiated tirelessly for peace after the new Lord Clifford, new Duke of Somerset, and new Earl of Northumberland demanded vengeance for their fathers slain at St. Albans. Clifford and his brother even attempted to ambush my uncle of York and his ally Salisbury as they rode from Westminster to London!

And now, in the heart of London, at St Paul's Cathedral, the King has ordered a procession of Lancastrian and Yorkist nobles and lords to link arms and smile in what he has called a 'Loveday.' Trying to bring about peace, he has ordered York to pay the Dowager Duchess of Somerset, by compensation, of 5,000 marks, Warwick, 1,000 marks to Clifford, and Salisbury is to forgo fines levied on Northumberland. 5,000 marks, I say! Why, that is almost the amount, - nay possibly the whole amount of a dowry for one of his daughters! And the three Yorkist lords must found a chantry at St. Albans for the dead to have masses sung, at a cost of five and forty pounds per annum. Fie, what hefty compensation, and all the Lancaster heirs are to do is to vow not to seek vengeance for their father's deaths? What lies! Do they mean to bankrupt my uncle further, having to pay out for the widow of England's worst advisor? The King is cuckolding the Yorkists by these requests.

And now here I am, present, surrounded by the court, which I always desired so long to become part of. I shall smile falsely, not for the peace gathering, but to mask my own unhappiness. Another baby, another chance for an heir gone. Am I ever to produce a child that will live? What if I am never able to? What is so wrong that I should lose another babe, before it is even born, again? Does fault lie with Henry, as I have become with child so quickly after lying with him, or my own body?

I felt my cheeks redden at everyone's gazes as I emerged days from by bedchamber, after the fateful event had occurred. They pity me, whisper about me.

"Elizabeth is with child!"

"Hush, but it is for the other Elizabeth we pray for. She has miscarried!" I am the other Elizabeth, the pale, listless one, not the plump merry one with child. Why does Elizabel, the other Elizabeth Bourchier, keep her baby, but I, Elizabeth Bourchier, do not? God is displeased with me somehow, or mayhap Henry?

So here, I am present, walking through the capital city of the realm, the heart of the kingdom-London. I am wearing my wedding dress, for 'twas the finest gown I own fit for the eyes of the court people, as there was no time to commission a new one which would go to waste. Adjustments were of course made, for I am not as small and petite as the girl on my wedding day, and a new sash was also made to replace the torn one, the one that Henry took with him like a knight's colours in a joust off to St. Albans, and the bloody scrap that returned to me. I dared not replace it with any other emblems but our own intertwining ones, for Henry would have noticed and be saddened further. It is strange to be wearing the gown again which I wore so many years ago, filled with hope, joy, youth, innocence, not knowing what was to come.

I cannot explain my feelings concerning Henry; I just simply do not feel as passionate as I did those years gone. I have suggested we lay together more frequently- hypocritical of me, since I denied him this privilege for a while; Isabel, the baby so lost to me, took longer to conceive, whereas my poor, poor, miscarried babes, who had no chance to live, were conceived after a... long period of no intercourse. Mayhap... God is angered that we are not lying frequently with one another as a man and wife should?

We have walked, this long procession of both men and women alike, the Lancaster ladies wearing red flowers in their hair through the London streets. The townspeople have come out from their small houses squashed together on these small lanes, and the children curtsey in their rough linen skirts, in greys and browns as the King and Queen glide past. The roads are cleared of any foul substances and a few rushes have been hastily scattered, although they do not conceal the scent of the fishmongers', for the River Thames is in so very close proximity. The people stare up at us with their grubby faces.